


Don't Pretend That You Don't Want Me

by soclose



Series: If I'm Not the One for You.... [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Porn, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Clarke, Dom/sub, F/F, Flogging, Miscommunication, Mutually Unrequited, Nipple Clamps, Painplay, Pining, Predicament Bondage, Safeword Use, Safewords, Smut, Sub Lexa, clarke and lexa are not on the same page, it doesn't go well :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soclose/pseuds/soclose
Summary: Clarke sets out to test Lexa on some predicament bondage. It doesn't go as planned. Feelings ensue.





	Don't Pretend That You Don't Want Me

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, my friends. This one has been highly requested so. Here you go. All 6k+ words of it.
> 
> There's nothing 'light kink' about this fic, but it's not particularly intense, either. (At least I don't think?) There's predicament bondage and some resulting masochism from that, so. Read on forewarned!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @trashbb for more.

She sets the flogger down on the duvet, eyes trailing over the pink and red crisscross pattern adorning Lexa’s back. Her fingers reach out, tips trailing over the heated skin decorating her from shoulders to thighs.

“You look so beautiful like this,” she whispers, spreading her palm when she meets the small of Lexa’s back. Beneath her touch, Lexa shivers. Clarke watches the tremor start at her spine and spread down to Lexa’s reaching fingertips and digging.

Strain must be settling in, Clarke thinks, her calves lifted so long to keep her body bent over the edge of the bed.

“I’m going to take this out of you now,” she tells her, reaching between Lexa’s legs to grasp at the vibrator. Lifting the one end away from Lexa’s clit, she carefully maneuvers the We-Vibe, pulling out the inserted bit before placing it on her nightstand. A needy whine sounds against her ears, prompting her lips to pull up in a smile.

“Don’t worry, we’re not done,” Clarke assures her. Lexa’s answer is a high-pitched whimper, the sound breathy and lost and Clarke chuckles as she moves.

“I know, I’ve been awfully mean to you today,  haven’t I?” she asks, tapping on Lexa’s shoulder to give her permission to stand. With a soft hum of agreement (or was that protestation?), Lexa stands on wavering legs, certainly jellied, to stretch her calves as her heels come back down to the floor.

“It’s barely even been an hour,” Clarke tells her, glancing at the clock. “You can take more than a couple edges and a flogging for me, can’t you?”

Clarke catches a flash of white as Lexa bites at her lower lip.

“Yes. For you.”

Clarke smiles and reaches up to brush a stray lock of soft brown from Lexa’s face. “That’s my girl. Stretch out while I get set up, and when you’re ready, I want you standing by the foot of the bed, facing away from it.”

Brown curls bounce as Lexa nods, and it’s all Clarke waits for before returning to her dresser drawer of toys, reaching inside to pluck out a pair of clamps and a few lengths of rope. Dangling a pair of safety scissors from her pinky finger, Clarke nearly skips to the bed and deposits her selections on top of the duvet.

Lexa is standing in position, pulling one arm across her chest to stretch at the bicep. From behind, Clarke can admire the patchwork that is her back, the firm round of her butt. Her thighs are stood apart, just past hip width, and she stands rooted in the plush of Clarke’s bedroom carpet.

 _She’s fucking beautiful_ , Clarke thinks, indulgent as she admires her. Lexa switches arms, stretching them both before she shakes them at her sides, gently clasping her hands behind her back and waiting for Clarke’s next move.

She makes another trip to the dresser, picking out Lexa’s favorite pair of soft, burgundy leather cuffs and the matching collar.

Perfect.

The drawer slides shut and she moves to approach Lexa, cuffs and collar spread across the palms of her hands.

“I’m going to put the collar on first,” Clarke tells her, waiting for Lexa’s nod before she sets the cuffs on the end of the bed. Lexa’s chin lifts, baring her tender throat to Clarke’s greedy eyes. Catching the steady strum of her pulse at the base of her neck, Clarke leans in close, latches her lips to the flick of it. With her blood pumping strong and quick under her tongue, Clarke sucks gently, careful not to leave visible marks, but hard enough to feel Lexa tremble underneath her.

When she releases, the skin is pink, shining, and Clarke covers it with the soft red of the leather.

The d-link sits at the back of her neck and Clarke fastens the buckle at the front. She presses two fingertips under the edge, testing the fit.

“Too tight?” Clarke asks, losing herself in open pools of green.

“No, miss,” Lexa answers, and Clarke nods, picking up the cuffs before she moves behind her.

“Keep your hands just like that,” she instructs, reaching for Lexa’s arm. She holds Lexa’s slender fingers in one hand, giving them a squeeze before she fixes the cuff at her wrist. Soon, she reaches for the next, leaving Lexa bound with her hands behind her back and a beautiful collar adorning the length of her throat.

Clarke’s eyes devour the pebbled points of her nipples, the soft definition of her muscles and the curve of her hips.

It takes effort, a moment of a breath to draw herself away from the sight. But her enthusiasm quickly grows when she remembers the task at hand, catches the silver pair of clover clamps in her grip.

“You know what these are.”

She catches the quick widening of Lexa’s eyes. Clarke’s smile is soft, but the blow of black pupils into bright green causes the corner of her lips to twitch, smirk settling into place as she approaches.

“I know, I know, they’re the mean ones,” she says. “But you’re going to be a good girl and wear them for me, right?”

“Yes,” comes the whispered answer.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, miss.”

“My good girl….” Brushing a finger over Lexa’s nipple, she teases the bud softly before holding it in place. With her other hand, she squeezes at the metal sides, opening the clamp before she positions it over Lexa’s straining nipple. Slowly, she releases her grip and the rubber ends close around the sensitive tissue.

Lexa trembles, the movement rattling the chain connecting her to the other clamp.

“Just a little tug,” Clarke says, barely pulling on the chain. Lexa will end up doing enough tugging, she thinks, and the clover clamp design will only increase her struggle the more she pulls. She repeats her actions on the other side, letting the chain hang against Lexa’s sternum before she steps back. Lexa’s chest heaves under the strain and excitement and Clarke can feel the answering throb between her own aching thighs.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, leaning forward to catch Lexa’s bottom lip with her own.

Lexa moans, the sound reverberating against her lips and prompting Clarke’s mouth to open. Slowly, she teases the tip of her tongue against the edge of Lexa’s lip, taking advantage of the way her jaw softens to lick at the seam of them, suckle on the plump tissue.

Kissing Lexa is hedonistic, an honor and a pleasure all rolled up into one. It’s not a taste that Clarke indulges in often, preferring to keep her lips to the column of Lexa’s throat, the top of her hair. Where Lexa outside the bedroom can keep herself cool, contained, kissing Lexa lets everything out. Lexa kisses with her heart and soul and Clarke knows she can’t keep her feelings separated from their neat arrangement if she indulges in this rich taste too frequently.

Already, she feels herself grow wet as Lexa leans forward, trying to chase Clarke’s lips as she starts to pull back, her body already straining forward to keep kissing, to keep this soft touch. Maybe more edging isn’t what she needs tonight. Perhaps what Lexa needs for a motivator is kisses instead.

“You’ll get more soon,” she promises on a whisper, reaching up to cup her cheek before she steps back. Hunger greets her in those green eyes, but Lexa only nods, mouth open and eyes wide before Clarke reaches to grab the lengths of rope that she’d set out on the bed.

She grabs up the neatly tied length of shibari rope first, unravelling the length and doubling it.

“Take a step forward,” she tells Lexa, who immediately obeys. Checking the distance between Lexa and the footboard, Clarke nods to herself, approaching behind her to slip the folded end of the rope through the collar’s d-link.

Pulling the lengths through the loop, she secures the rope to the collar with a girth hitch, one hand at the base of Lexa’s neck to keep from jerking her as she tugs the knot secure. Picking up one of the two lengths, Clarke walks to the bedrpost, holding the rope taut because the secures it around the top groove in the polished wood.

She repeats the action for the second length, careful to keep the pressure even. Clarke watches Lexa’s chin tip back slightly as the secures the second knot, and smiles as she checks in. “Not too tight?”

“No,” Lexa replies back, steady. “But I can feel it.”

“Perfect.”

Moving to leave six inches between them, maybe eight, Clarke’s smile grows into a grin as she says, “come give me a kiss, Lexa.”

Clarke watches as realization blooms in the depths of Lexa’s eyes, her lips falling open and she leans forward, puts pressure on the ropes and digs the thick leather band into the front of her throat, softly choking herself.

Her breath is shallow and hot when it lands on Clarke’s lips, who lingers as she suckles and nibbles, enjoying the warm wetness of Lexa’s kiss.

“Good girl,” she whispers, reaching out to ghost a thumb over the pinched peak of Lexa’s nipple. The woman twitches, rattles the chain, but her breath is only a whimper when Clarke repeats the action, careful not to pull, but only to tease.

“Step back to where you’re comfortable,” she tells her, watching Lexa lean back onto her heels again before Clarke moves for the second length of rope -- thin twine in a small bundle that she holds up before Lexa’s eyes.

“Do you know what this is for?”

Lexa’s brows scrunch, gaze flicking between Clarke and the rope. Clarke’s own gaze drops down to Lexa’s nipples, to the dangling ends of the silver clamps and back to up Lexa’s, just in time to watch realization widen her eyes and tug and her features.

“Miss….” she says, breathless and timid.

Clarke smiles back at her, warm and open.

“I’m going to attach this to the clamps and the bedposts, just like the collar,” she tells her, unwinding the first few inches of twine to thread it into the bottom of the clamp and knot it off. Mindful to lead it taut, but not tugging, Clarke moves to the bedpost, ties it off. If she has to cut Lexa out quickly, it should only take one cut to cut both ropes. Perfect.

Grabbing the safety scissors, she snips the twine in half, collecting the second length to repeat the process on the other side.

When she steps back, Lexa stands flushed, chest heaving with the rush of her breath in the neat V of Clarke’s bondage. Her feet are planted firm in the carpet, toes curling, thighs spread just far enough apart for Clarke to catch the glimpse of sweet silk gathering between them. Lexa’s abs clench and flutter, the movement shaking the chain while her arms stay pinned neatly behind her back.

“You’re so pretty, Lexa,” Clarke tells her, pushing back the hair from her face. “You always are, but like this??”

She hums, warm and vibrating in the back of her throat as her fingers trail down her own naked chest. Over the soft curve of her belly and slipping between the trimmed curls between her legs, Clarke touches herself, gathers the hot slippery arousal on her fingertips and draws lazy circles against her clit.

Lexa’s eyes follow her, the heat of them flaring against Clarke’s skin, and _god_ , it’s so tempting. So inviting to make Lexa watch and maybe she should have put Lexa on her knees, made her lick at Clarke with desperate kitten strokes until she comes….

Next time, she thinks, pulling her fingers back and lifting the wet digits up to Lexa’s mouth.

She opens immediately, sucks Clarke’s fingers and moans.

“Do you like that?” Clarke asks, and Lexa nods, bobs her head while her tongue slips between Clarke’s fingers. “That’s a good girl.”

With a pop, Clarke pulls her fingers free, watches a smear of saliva paint itself onto Lexa’s lower lip and she doesn’t hesitate, leans forward to kiss it away before pulling back and putting half a step in between them.

Lexa whimpers at the distance.

“Is there something you want, Lexa?” Her voice is all silk, all warm velvet and inviting as her smile turns up at the corners.

Lexa breathes hard, eyes wanting as they dart over Clarke’s body.

“Answer me.”

“You, miss,” Lexa says without missing a beat.

“And what do you want from me?” Clarke’s finger reaches up, draws a lazy pattern from just above Lexa’s pubic bone to swirl at the bottom of her sternum.

“I --- “ There’s a struggle in those eyes, a fog of lust and wanting that Lexa has to sort through to speak.

Clarke waits, lets her settle her thoughts.

“I want to kiss you. Please, may I kiss you?”

Clarke nods once, makes no move to kiss her. “You may.”

Lexa leans forward, eyes fluttering shut until she puts pressure on the ropes, tightens the clamps on her own nipples, pressing the collar against her throat.

Clarke smiles wide, soaks in Lexa’s low moan. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks, teasing. “I want my kiss.”

Even through the collar, Clarke sees her throat bob, a heavy swallow. Flush creeps out from the leather to glow hot in Lexa’s cheeks, her breath fast and shallow as she gathers herself. When she leans forward this time, it’s far enough to kiss her, to latch her lips softly to Clarke’s and Clarke captures her whimper when it spills from her lips.

“Mmm, I love your lips,” Clarke tells her, humming. Lexa leans back onto her heels and Clarke’s eyes dart to the tighter pinch on her nipples, the tension of the clamps not dissipating with her relieved position.

“I think I might want more,” she says, tempting her. “How about you come over here and give me another?”

Lexa bites her lip, tucks the plush tissue in between her teeth, but her head bobs softly, body shifting to lean forward and tug against her bonds.

Clarke kisses her filthy, grabs at Lexa’s jaw and licks at her lips until Lexa opens wide and gasping. She sucks at her, teases along the edge of her lips with her tongue before slipping into her open mouth. Lexa is all warmth, wet and sighing and giving way to a groan before Clarke releases her and lets Lexa step back.

A crease digs between Lexa’s brow, the tension compounded with no relief each time she tugs forward.

“How are you doing?” Clarke asks, watching her.

“Good,” Lexa answers, furrow still stuck. “Hurts, but….”

“But what?” Clarke asks, hand reaching out to run her middle finger through Lexa, gathering her wet and smearing it around her swollen clit. “Doesn’t seem like it hurts too bad….”

Lexa shakes her head, jaw slacked. “No, miss. Not too bad. Can I… More?”

Clarke’s hand returns to her side, dips between her own legs to circle herself with Lexa’s arousal on her fingers. “You can have more. If you come here and get it.”

Clarke catches her flinch this time, the point (just an inch, an inch from Clarke’s waiting lips) where Lexa pauses to wince, hesitates before forcing her body past the pain in search of Clarke’s welcome touch.

Clarke decides to reward her for it.

“Spread your legs for me,” she whispers against Lexa’s lips, kissing her greedily before touching her, one hand wet with her own silk and one hand wet with Lexa’s, slipping a finger inside the straining woman and revelling in the moan she swallows down the back of her throat.

Three thrusts, it takes her. Three long, probing thrusts before Lexa pulls back with a whine.

Clarke slips her finger free, eyes scouring the naked woman.

“I’m sorry, miss, I’m sorry,” Lexa hurries to tell her, breath shaking. “I’m--”

“Shh,” Clarke tells her, stepping forward to swirl her finger over Lexa’s clit, to brush her lips against her sweaty forehead. “This is an exercise in your wants, Lexa. Your needs. Pull back when you need to, come forward when you want more. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Lexa says, nodding. Her breath shudders out, head hanging, before she draws a longer inhale and manages to calm herself.

“Good girl,” Clarke praises, giving one more firm rub to her clit before stepping back. “Come back to me when you’re ready.”

It takes a few moments for Clarke to get her next kiss. Patient, she waits, teasing herself up with lazy touches and a dipping fingertip. Clarke is absolutely soaking, wound up with a throbbing clit and fighting against her own urge to cut Lexa down, drop her to her knees and bury that beautiful face right between her legs.

But there’s such a haunting beauty in this: in watching Lexa steal herself, knowing the ache is coming, the pain and the sting and bite, but still leaning forward because she wants Clarke’s kisses. Subjecting herself to hurt because wants her touch, and is willing to torture herself in order to receive it.

Clarke’s lips are open and waiting when Lexa returns to her, soft and lingering and she moves her other hand back between Lexa’s legs, grins against her when the girl eagerly opens her thighs

If Clarke was soaked, Lexa’s _dripping_. Arousal has pooled between her labia and Clarke groans at the slick of it, at the way it threatens to spill down Lexa's thighs and at how easily two fingers slip knuckle deep inside her.

Lexa stays longer this time, lets Clarke fuck her with shallow thrusts meant not to stress the chain hanging from her sore nipples. Clarke swallows down every tiny moan, every whimper and gasp of air that comes in a voiceless request for more. She curls her fingers, draws a keening cry from Lexa's lungs before she's pulling away. Lexa stumbles back into place with a choked gasp and tears in her eyes, whimpering softly as her thighs tremble in their struggle to hold her.

“You want more, don't you?” Clarke whispers, biting at her lip. “You want me to fuck you, but it hurts. It stings and you're choking, but you need it.”

Lexa's head bobs, her breath ragged and she swallows and tries to catch her breath. “Please…”

Clarke's hand abandons its place between her own legs, jaw slack and lids heavy as she stares hungrily at the desperate woman before her.

“Well, come on, then,” she taunts her, puckering her lips and sending air kisses in her direction. “Let me touch you, Lexa.”

The other woman swallows, blinks fast to clear the tears that cling on her lashes. Her chest expands with a heavy breath, an attempt to steal herself before she leans forward once more.

“That's my girl,” Clarke whispers as she gets closer, watching as Lexa's brow furrows and her tears gather before spilling down her cheeks. Clarke kisses her, wet and beautiful with her middle finger rubbing firm circles on Lexa's swollen clit.

Lexa's moan is loud, ragged. Clarke isn't convinced that it’s not just a sob, but Lexa isn't pulling back. She's leaning forward, tugging on the clamps and collar and tipping her hips into Clarke's touch. Her lips are desperate, messy on Clarke's and huffing broken breaths.

“Clarke--” she gasps as she pulls away, shaking.

Clarke’s eyes flick up at the use of her name, heart strumming too quick. (Too quick…) “Excuse me?”

“Mi-Miiss,” she corrects, tripping over the hasty correction. “Miss. I'm sorry.”

“That's better,” Clarke says, although her heart is still racing, hammering on the back of her sternum, as if it’s attempting to tattoo the sound of her name when it falls from Lexa's pleading throat.

_Clarke. Clarke. Clarke._

It's her turn to choke this time as Lexa boldly steps forward, reaches for Clarke's lips and steals her breath. It’s harsh and needy, tongue pleading and lips begging and Clarke’s hands come up, slip into her hair to anchor at the back of her head.

The sensation lets her lose herself, sink into the welcome of trembling lips and hot, tight arousal until Lexa yelps, the noise squeaking out from the tight hold of the collar as she wrenches from Clarke’s hands and pulls back as close as she can to the foot board.

Her tears spill over fast and heavy, broken glass beads dripping down her perfect cheeks. Her breath hiccups and starts, her body trembling with the chain rattling against her skin.

 _This is it,_ Clarke thinks. Lexa might try for one more, then beg, ask so _pretty_ for Clarke to let her down, to fuck her, just _please please please, Miss, please._

She isn’t prepared for Lexa to step forward again, to choke back her own cry and reach blindly for Clarke’s lips, eyes clenched shut and their mouths just brushing before she flinches back into place.

“You all done, baby?” Clarke asks, her voice dragging, rasping. “No more kisses?”

 _All done_ , she expects. _Please, Clarke, I can’t_.

But all she gets a shake of Lexa’s head, a heavy swallow and another pull forward. Her kiss lands this time, wet and salt dancing on the tip of Clarke’s tongue. She feels Lexa’s chest shudder this close to her own, the ropes taut and Lexa’s throat pulled tight enough to turn her cheeks rosy red and straining.

“You seem pretty done,” Clarke tells her, opening the door for her to call it off.

“No,” Lexa gasps out, leaning forward, and Clarke hesitates before she offers her kiss. Lexa sobs into her open mouth, trembles against her lips. The line of her shoulders breaks, Lexa’s chest caving in on itself and the resulting tug wrenching the sound of pain from her throat.

It spills ice down Clarke’s spine, settles something cold and uncomfortable in the pit of her gut.

“Yellow, Lexa, Jesus,” she whispers against her. “You can stop if it’s too much.”

“I want to _kiss_ ,” Lexa returns, the words too loud, broken. Her stance crumbles against the ropes as she scrambles messy and blind for Clarke’s lips.

“Red,” Clarke calls out, stepping away, out of reach. “Relax back, Lexa, I’m going to bring you down.”

The way Lexa obeys her now -- sobs coming freely while her face slicks with tears and snot -- is no longer beautiful. The sight clenches Clarke’s heart instead of warming it. Whatever she had planned, whatever hopes she had of making Lexa beg, of watching her push herself until she hit the wall of frustration…

They weren’t on the same page. Lexa’s tears are no longer pretty; they just hurt.

Clarke’s hands tremble as they reach out for the safety sheers, thankful for her rigid devotion to _safety first_ for having kept them close. It takes two tries of her shaking hands to snip the first rope, letting the length fall to the floor before she snips the second, moving quickly to the other bedpost and repeating her actions.

Lexa’s crying when Clarke approaches her and Clarke lifts a gentle finger up under her tipping chin.

“I’m going to take the collar off first,” she tells her, steady, controlled. _You can do this, Griffin_. “Then the cuffs, okay?”

Lexa nods, sniffles hard and lifts her chin.

Clarke’s fingers take advantage of the space, working quickly to pull the leather back through the buckle and free Lexa’s neck. Letting the leather drop to the carpet with a muted thud, Clarke moves to Lexa’s wrists, freeing one and then the other before Lexa’s weight nearly buckles into her arms.

“Let’s get you to the bed,” she tells her, careful to reach around her waist and support some of her weight. “Then we’ll get those clamps off, okay?”

Lexa’s throaty noise is more whine than agreement.

Clarke’s reply is nothing more than a quiet, “I know. Almost done.”

The clamps are always worse coming off, and with the stubbornness of Lexa’s tugging, Clarke knows they’re going to hurt… a lot. Lexa is no longer in the mindset for it to be pleasurable, and Clarke doesn’t want to cause her unnecessary pain.

 _Not like this_.

Careful not to snag the long lengths of twine, Clarke leads Lexa to the bed, motions for her to lay back and helps guide her as she settles in. She lays flat, but her knees are bent, feet overlapping and keeping up a staccato rhythm of rubbing and sliding over each other, nervous.

“I’m going to take the first one off, okay?” Clarke say. “Take a deep breath for me.”

She waits until she sees Lexa’s lungs expand, forces herself to do the same and steadies her hand before releasing the right clamp. The pinched tissue falls from its forced peak, red and marked and angry.

Lexa stifles a cry, chokes back a sound as she turns her head into the pillow. Clarke reaches up, brushes a curl from her face.

“One more, Lexa. You’re doing so good, okay?”

She gets a half hearted nod, Lexa’s eyes glassy and unfocused as she pulls them from the safety of the pillow, but she manages another deep breath when Clarke instructs her.

Her yelp is louder this time, her whole body rolling over and curling in on itself as Clarke tosses the clamps to her nightstand, twine still wound around their ends, and crawls into the bed behind Lexa.

She’s careful, leaves a few inches of room between them.

“Lexa?” she asks, cautious even though her heart is thundering. “Can I touch you?”

She gets her answer when Lexa rolls over, buries her face in Clarke’s chest and wraps her trembling arms around Clarke’s middle. Clarke’s own hand immediately goes to her back, rubbing soothing tracks up and down the length of her cracking spine.

“It’s all over, Lexa,” she whispers to her, pressing soft kisses to her temple. “You did good, so good.”

Lexa’s face shakes back and forth against her, voice muffled and cracking as she rasps out, “no, I didn’t. You stopped.”

Clarke’s heart shatters, wedges itself into the spaces between her ribs.

“I stopped because I didn’t want you to harm yourself,” she corrects, careful to keep her tone soft. “And you would have. You _were_. You didn’t have to push yourself that hard, Lexa. You could have stopped.”

Lexa’s shoulders hitch, her breath catches and Clarke aches at not being able to fix this. To comfort her.

“Why didn’t you stop?” she asks on a whisper. It’s selfish, a greedy question that she needs to have answered.

“I just wanted to keep kissing you,” Lexa tells her. The sound of air rushing out of her lungs is wretched, a soul-deep torpedo that launches for the center of Clarke’s chest. “You never kiss me.” She sounds small, so _small_ and fragile and nothing like the well-pressed law student Clarke knows can command a courtroom in the daylight. “I didn’t want you to stop….”

“Lexa….”

Clarke wishes that the bed would open up and eat her, dissolve her through the mattress and bury her deep where she belongs. Kisses, intimacy, _relationship_ …

That’s not exactly what their arrangement is supposed to be about.

But how can it have gone unnoticed that Lexa was yearning for them, seeking that… confirmation? That moment of trust and communication?

She should have seen it before tonight.

“You’ve never asked me to kiss you...” she says, the argument weak and it dies on her tongue.

Lexa brings a hand up, wipes at the mess of tears and snot dripping down her face. Clarke reaches behind her, catches the soft cardboard box from the nightstand and plucks a handful of tissues before passing them over.

“Thanks,” Lexa mutters, eyes down and cheeks flushed as she wipes at her face. She blows her nose until it clears, balling the used tissues in her fist.

“Here, there’s a trash next to the bed,” Clarke says, holding out her hand.

Hesitation flits over Lexa’s features, hand hovering between them as she glances between the open palm and her fistfull of tissues.

When she finally hands them over, Clarke ignores the wet on her palm in favor of tossing them on top of a Snicker’s wrapper and last night’s water bottle.

“Do you want another one?” she asks softly, holding out the box.

Lexa’s eyes close, exhaustion pulling at her features, and though her eyes are still wet, she shakes her head no. “I’m okay,” she says, sniffling. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ---”

“No, you don’t have to apologize,” Clarke says, swallowing back her racing heart. “I do. I’m sorry. I… We should have talked about this. _I_ should have noticed before it got this far, I -- “

“You’re not the one who fucked up, Clarke.”

And she’s shaking her head, halfway toward telling Lexa it’s her responsibility, her job as the dominant, but…

There’s something in Lexa’s tone, the way her voice wobbles on Clarke’s name that gives her pause.

“What do you mean?” she asks, brow scrunched, eyes watching Lexa’s face.

Lexa draws in a sigh, and her voice is steadier when she answers. “I knew the rules. No strings, just sex. I fucked up.”

Something warm and swooping slips through the floor of Clarke’s gut, and her brow is still scrunched, muscles taut while her jaw ticks. “Lexa, what’re you…?”

A harsh laugh slips past the brunettes lips, the sound grating so _wrong_ on Clarke’s eardrums, and before she has a chance to question it, before she has a chance to retract, Lexa is slipping out of her fingertips, rolling to the other side of the bed and pushing herself up on shaky legs.

“I’m gonna go,” she says, and Clarke’s up in an instant, head rushing and hot with the quick change of her position.

“No,” she says, putting herself between Lexa and the door. “Lexa, you can’t just _leave_ \-- .”

Green, watery eyes track the space between them, dart around the room as looking for a quick escape. (And maybe, Clarke reflects, she actually is.)

“I need to go, Clarke.” Her lips move, but her teeth are clenched tight, jaw twitching.

“We need to talk,” Clarke says, hands up, placating. “You can’t just say something like that and then lea--”

“Talk about what, Clarke?! You don’t want me; there’s nothing to discuss.”

The room rings in its silence following Lexa’s outburst. Clarke can’t hear beyond the stampede of her heartbeat, the drag of her own harsh breath. Lexa reaches up, swipes angry at the tears that land on her cheeks.

“You don’t want me,” Lexa repeats, her forced calm a poor concealer for the crack in her voice. “Not that way that I want you.”

“Lexa, I don’t….” Confusion knits her brow, the anticipation of freefall building in her gut. This moment, her response… This _means_ something and Clarke… “I don’t know what to say.”

Lexa’s lips pull back, bare her teeth in a harsh caricature of a smile. She’s reaching for the neat fold of her clothes on the chair, and Clarke’s belly starts to turn, the floor crumbling out beneath her.

“You don’t have to, Clarke. That says enough.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just--” She backtracks, trying to regain control of the moment as it slips tangibly from her tingling fingers. “Fuck, I just -- I need a second to _process_ all this, Lexa, please!”

“There’s nothing to process, Clarke.” Lexa’s got her underwear back on, one leg slipping into the dark wash of her jeans. “You made yourself clear. You don’t want a relationship. You just want someone to fuck, and I… I can’t be that for you anymore.”

Clarke knows full and well she didn’t have anything to drink before their session, but she’d swear to God the room is spinning. Knuckles whitening on the bedpost, she tries to ground herself, eyes blinking to quick as she takes in the sight of Lexa buttoning her jeans, clasping up her bra.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says, a revelation and a whisper as the words fall from her lips. “I don’t know, I just…. Everything was so _simple_ at first. We fucked and I didn’t think about it, and nobody got hurt, and now….”

 _Now I think about if you got enough sleep while I shower in the morning,_ she thinks, but the words get stuck in her throat. _I hear a funny joke at work and I wanna text you about it, but I don’t._

_Why don’t I text you, Lexa?_

Lexa winces when she spins her bra around her rib cage, moves careful as she works her arms into the straps.

“Come on, Lex, you can’t just go,” Clarke says, swallowing hard. “Let me at least make sure you’re okay first, we worked the scene pretty hard tonight….”

“I’m fine.” Her tone is clipped, her eyes focused on their task as she pulls her shirt over her head and adjusts it around her hips. “I’ll ice at home. I’ll be fine.”

Clarke’s sighing breath is a desperate plea of it’s own, her head reaching out only to have Lexa jerk away as her fingertips brush her bicep.

“Don’t,” she bites, and Clarke swallows down her bile. Lexa pauses, eyelids drifting closed before she says, “please. Don’t, Clarke. I'm…. Red. _Please._ I’m… I'm red.”

The room shrinks and Clarke can’t breathe, can’t do anything but not her head and take a step back, grant Lexa her space as she pulls on her socks and ties up her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke chokes out, watching as Lexa makes her way to the bedroom door, feet soft on the padded carpet.

Lexa pauses, one hand on the door.

She doesn’t look over her shoulder.

“Goodbye, Clarke.”

Clarke doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut a few minutes later. She doesn’t move when an engine roars to life in the driveway, tires crunching over the loose gravel. She doesn’t move when her eyes starting burning, heavy and wet.

This was supposed to be _easy_. No strings attached. No one would get hurt because no one was invested. That’s what she wanted. Right?

...This isn’t what she wanted.

Cut ropes still hang from her bed frame; clamps with lengths of twine sit on top of her bed. The sheets are ruffled and toys litter her nightstand. Her room smells like sex and Lexa’s perfume, the scent of warm vanilla and something piney and _her_ , and Clarke reaches out, knocks her nightstand clean until all the toys and supplies rattle to the floor. She yanks the clamps off her sheets, tosses them to the carpet, chasing the ends of twine as they float down.

“Stupid _fucking_ \--!”

Her sheets come off next, hands grabbing at the corners and pulling until the ends yank free, snapping at the mattress and balling in her fists.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Her soft ruby of her sheets hits the floor and Clarke clambers onto her bed, tosses off all the pillows. Her feet kick into the soft of the blanket until it drops over the footboard, leaving her on nothing but the rough mattress cover, naked and out of breath.

It wasn’t supposed to _hurt_ . The whole point of this, of the rules, was _nobody was supposed to hurt_. She’d sworn that Finn was the last straw, the last time she let her heart get roped into something that only caused pain.

So why did this hurt so much?

Shivering, Clarke pulls her knees to her chest, hugs her own naked body and buries her face in the mattress.

_Goodbye, Clarke._

She knows why this hurts. Knows why her chest crushes in on itself and leaves the room dark and gloomy even when the lights are on.

 _I fucked up, too, Lexa_ , she thinks, elbows tucking into her body as she closes her eyes and pretends they don’t sting, drip hot and wet onto her arm.

_I fucked up._

 


End file.
